“Is the teacher any good?” Sherm had asked, meeting her at the ford on her way home, and taking lunch basket and books with an air of possession, which was the one trick of Sherm’s that annoyed Chicken Little. He never asked leave or offered to relieve her of burdens; he merely reached over and took them.
She minded this more than usual to-day; Mr. Clay’s manner had been so delightful. She couldn’t even thank Sherm. They trudged along in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Sherm asked dryly: 282“Left your tongue at school, Miss Morton?–you’re not very sociable.”
Chicken Little responded by making a face at him, which brought an ominous sparkle into the boy’s eyes. Things hadn’t gone very well with him that day and he had waited for Jane for a little companioning.
“Well,” he demanded gruffly, “what’s the matter? Did Mr. Clay stand you in a corner the first day or did the handsome Grant neglect you for Mamie?”
The last thrust put fire in Chicken Little’s eye. She turned and looked at him squarely.
“Sherm, if I slapped you some day would you be surprised?” she demanded unexpectedly.
Sherm flashed a sidelong glance at her. “Not as surprised as you’ll be, if you ever try it.”
Chicken Little considered this remark. Just what did he mean?
Sherm’s face was flushed a trifle angrily. He looked as if he might mean most anything. She replied demurely with a provoking shrug of her shoulders.
“I didn’t say I should–but I wanted to dreadfully a minute ago.”